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pumpkin poem

no me quemo ningún incienso
si el asesino rojo piensa él mata
melancolía, azul era
en la tierra silenciosa
sueño dulce en sus sepulcros humildes
arriba y abajo de él va
como va un hombre desnudo yo
en y encendido
las canciones antiguas
por el puente grosero
entre las montañas vagué
ella debe ir detrás, ella dijo

 



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